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Plans to
mark the forthcoming centenary of WW1 provide important opportunities to
intervene in questions of war, historical memory and commemoration. In the
coming months Up in Arms will be inviting guest writers to contribute to this
space – especially from perspectives that engage with cultural plurality,
racism and diversity in the present.

For the
last two years Up in Arms has been tracking the process of militarisation in
the everyday life in the UK, aiming to create a space for reflecting on the
domestic impact of the prolonged interventions in Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya.

As the
sixth consecutive Armed Forces Day approaches on June 28, it’s a good time to
sharpen the focus on the changing profile of military work, especially as the hype would have us believe that this
year will mark the first time in 100 years that British troops are not deployed
in war. In this connection, don't miss Wartorn Britainand MIchael Bluett's account of why he made his film.

Since my
last column, there have also been a rash of announcements. Despite the restructuring
of the armed forces and the continuing redundancies across the army in
particular, the shortfall in numbers of new recruits continues to cause alarm
in Whitehall and elsewhere. April and May saw a flurry of articles about
dropping restrictions that bar women from infantry roles in the army, although
new reports indicate that the internal complaints system is failing those who report
incidents of rape and sexual assault.

Meanwhile,
evidence is produced to suggest that military training works well in educational settings, and funds are provided to expand cadet forces in state
schools. However,
as the remnants of Camp Bastion are being dismantled by the last official batch
of troops in Helmand, a new report reveals that over 30,000 British
soldiers have failed a basic fitness test within the last three years.

While
these reports draw attention to the social aspects of soldiering, the prospects
for veterans continues to cause alarm. The charity Combat Stress reported a 57% increase in the number
needing treatment in 2013 and warned that the country must prepare for
escalation.

Up in
Arms will continue to monitor these social and political consequences of
maintaining a military organisation in permanent readiness for war. But we also
invite writers, curators, archivists, historians and teachers to address a
range of complex issues thrown up by the approaching centenary of World War 1.

What are
the potential problems or contradictions entailed in compiling archival and
documentary accounts of military labour performed by colonial and post colonial
soldiers? And how do we create
spaces for generating new knowledge of colonial soldiers’ involvement in global
wars?

In the
first of this new series, Katy Sian explores potential problems and
contradictions entailed in compiling archival and documentary accounts of
military labour performed by colonial and post colonial soldiers. She asks why Sikhs are "so insistent on fighting and participating
within imperial wars for western nations that continue to exclude, ill-treat,
and treat them as inferior?" Is there any other
form of belonging available to (post)colonial soldiers and subjects which does
not endorse an imperial patriotism?

Vron Ware.

Sikhs, war, memory

by Katy P. Sian

As
we commemorate the centenary of the start of WW1, it is worth revisiting the
position of ethnic minorities and their relationship to imperial wars.
Diasporic Sikhs, soldiers and citizens alike, occupy a problematic, yet
intimate, and somewhat ironic relationship with colonial Britain, and ‘the West’.
Dating back to their colonial encounter, Sikhs have for the most part come to
embrace their label as ‘the favoured sons of Empire.’

Over
decades of colonial rule the British were able to carefully cultivate and
secure the loyalty and allegiance of many Sikhs through their ‘special’
designation as a ‘martial race’. Years on many Sikhs still take pride in such a
classification, regardless of any racist or imperial connotations. In addition
to this, despite a series of bloody battles in mid-nineteenth century colonial
India in which the British defeated the Sikh Kingdom twice in the first and
second Anglo Sikh Wars (1845-1846 and 1848-1849), Sikhs were, and still remain
quite content to fight imperial global wars, as can be seen not only in their
participation in World War 1, but also in the War on Terror and the contemporary
context.

Sikh loyalty to western empires continues to be hegemonic.
In the contemporary landscape, Sikhs in America have been fighting tooth and
nail to serve in the US army, despite the fact that they were banned until
recently, due to regulations around keeping their beards. In January this year
the US military ‘relaxed’ their dress code to allow for religious attire
including beards, turbans, and skullcaps. However rules state that each appeal
will be judged on ‘a case-by-case basis’ and new exemptions must be obtained
with every transfer, such are the many
caveats that surround such a decision. The willingness of Sikhs to serve in
America despite such exclusions, becomes even more so peculiar in a national
context where they have been subjected to a series of racist attacks from white
American citizens, who have confused them with being Muslim.

For example, the first so called, ‘revenge’ shooting after
9/11 by a white American claimed the life of a Sikh man wearing a turban. More
recently, in August 2012, a white gunman opened fire on Sikhs praying in a
Gurdwara in Wisconsin. Sikhs have also come under the spotlight of surveillance
with numerous instances of racially targeted security checks and screenings at
airports. So, why are Sikhs so insistent on fighting and participating within
imperial wars for western nations that continue to exclude, ill-treat, and treat
them as inferior?

The French Black
soldier

In commemorations of World War 1 it is not uncommon to see
images of majestic uniformed Sikhs proudly parading the British flag - images
of the good and loyal Sikh soldier recycled time and time again. Each time,
what we are being offered in such representations is an uncritically assimilated
Sikh soldier, a depiction not at all too dissimilar from Roland Barthes’ famous
example of the French
Black soldier. Here we see a young black boy photographed on the front page
of Paris-Match magazine, proudly
saluting nation and Empire as he prepares to go to war.

Child soldier on the cover of Paris Match

Again, there is a clear politics of representation in the
construct of the French Black soldier. On the surface, the message is that of
an all-embracing Empire with no colour-line and no racial discrimination. Such
images are replayed for annual war commemorations which almost exclusively show
off images of well-assimilated, devoted, and patriotic ethnic minorities.

Of course, it is important to recognize the contributions of
ethnically marked soldiers in war. It is all too often the case that their
stories and experiences still remain largely under-represented. But my argument
is not one that dismisses their efforts. Rather the aim is to problematize such
a politics of representation.

Political
representation

The nature of war can only be political: it follows that such
representations must also be political. The superficial splash of colour we see
in war commemorations is done to preserve the image of Empire as an ecumenical
entity, while at the same time erasing the atrocities bequeathed by global colonial
wars. This is not unlike the way in which Britain’s involvement within slavery
is remembered primarily for its role in abolitionist campaigns, rather than the
considerable brutality and wealth creation
on the very backs of slaves that took place in England’s ‘pleasant’ pastures
green.

As the Sikh case quite clearly illustrates, Empire is far
from ecumenical. From ‘martial races’ to exclusions on religious dress codes,
racism and discrimination are in fact constant features of western imperial
armies, both past and present.

Yet, what remains remarkable is that despite being excluded
and racialized; despite the unjust nature of the war in Iraq; regardless of the
ways in which World War 1 and the War on Terror have both served as tools for
imperial expansion; ignoring a series of Islamophobic attacks from White
America and Britain; ultimately, despite so much that has occurred in a long
history of military service - Sikhs still want to be part of the system, rather
than challenge it.

On the other side of the Atlantic, we have seen the shooting
of Sikhs in Wisconsin, and what can only be described as an extraordinary
response from American Sikhs post 9/11 -
public messages which far from critiquing the embedded racism and
Islamophobia affecting all minority ethnic communities alike, are eager to
explain first and foremost that, ‘we are Sikhs not Muslims’.

The place of Sikhs and their relationship to Britain is as
puzzling. On the one hand we have recently seen surfacing accounts of Britain’s
involvement in Operation Blue Star
1984, which saw the massacre of thousands of Sikhs in India on the advice
of the British government. Yet on the other hand, we have also seen the
establishment of a Sikh division in the EDL, promoting Islamophobic ideology.

For those situated as subjects of Empire, is there any
language they could deploy to commemorate the war without validating the
imperial project? Is any other form of belonging available to (post)colonial
soldiers, and subjects, which does not endorse an imperial patriotism? The Sikh
case is an interesting example riddled with contradictory issues of belonging
and longing, requiring a far more critical and nuanced understanding of Sikh
diasporic identity to begin to see what a profound decolonization of the Sikh
imaginary would look like. Perhaps a more fruitful debate that Sikhs might
engage with would begin to problematize rather than accept the perpetuation of
the Empire and the neo-imperialism ushered in by World War 1 and the current
War on Terror. There are three phenomena under this heading that are worth
highlighting, in this search for a new language of representation.

Firstly, there is the Ghadr
movement, a collective founded among Sikh immigrants principally in western
Canada at the turn of the twentieth century: the Ghadr revolutionaries and
their supporters included many Sikh ex-soldiers and ex-police officials who
were in the forefront of resistance to racism, British colonialism, and
imperial rule. Such an articulation of anti-colonial politics represented a
major shift in the changing dynamics of Sikhs and their relationship with the
British Raj towards whom many bore an unquestioned loyalty.

Second, we have the exemplary act of Muhammad Ali and his
critique of the Vietnam War. This is one of the best refutations in recent
history of any sense that we are destined to play out the role of Barthes’ French
Black soldier.

Finally, the millions of marchers in the 2003
anti-war protests illustrate the power of mobilization and that publics at
large will not accept undignified and unjust wars and invasions.

These examples, which represent the ‘other’
stories, are often sidelined, if not completely absent, from our war
commemorations and remembrance. It is far more useful to propagate the loyal (‘martial’)
Sikh than the revolutionary (Ghadr) Sikh. However, no matter how marginal,
these examples also show that the naturalized narrative for the justification
of imperial wars across the globe (that of civilizing, enlightening, and
modernizing) offered by western nations can be interrupted. Another language is
possible, and with it a greater sense of solidarity, unity, and belonging.

Thanks to Professor Vron Ware for
organizing the workshop, 'War, Citizenship and Public Memory' June 12, 2014,
where these ideas were discussed. Thanks also to all the participants’ valuable
contributions and interventions.

Singh. K. (1981) A History of the Sikhs, Volume 2: 1839-1974, London: Oxford University Press.

Yong, T. (2002) ‘Sepoys and the Colonial State: Punjab and the
Military Base of the Indian Army 1849-1900’ In The British Raj and its Indian Armed Forces 1857-1939,
ed.
P. Gupta and A. Deshpande, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

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